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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469338">Don’t Have Time to Get Restless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_StDavid/pseuds/Lauren_StDavid'>Lauren_StDavid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beechwood Shorts [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild BDSM</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2018-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2018-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:21:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_StDavid/pseuds/Lauren_StDavid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Self-indulgent PWP.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mike Nesmith/Peter Tork</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beechwood Shorts [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don’t Have Time to Get Restless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/70mtt/gifts">70mtt</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Self-indulgent PWP.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Humming as he prepared for bed, Peter tilted his head a little toward the half-open bedroom door, trying to gauge from the sound of the TV and the rhythm and tenor of the conversation down below when Mike would be coming upstairs to bed. A sly little smile tilted his lips. He’d ensured Mike wouldn’t be too long…by coming out of the shower in a small towel and rubbing at his hair with another, making sure he stood within Mike’s peripheral vision and flexing all the muscles that Mike really dug. And Mike had seen and Mike had dug. The sudden indrawn breath and stillness to his body had told Peter that.</p><p>Maybe that been unfair of Peter. After all, he did strive to be the best version of himself. But whenever he meditated on his feelings for Michael, Peter only ever received positive vibes, saw glowing, vibrant colors, which made it not just okay but <em>beautiful</em> for him to groove on the love warming Mike’s heart, the smile that curved his lips, and the heat that flared in his eyes whenever he looked at Peter. And especially at a too-small towel wearing, still-damp from the shower, fresh-smelling Peter, standing a foot to the side of him and dabbing at a few stray drops of water on his chest.</p><p>His “That feels better,” had had Mike dry-swallowing and shifting a little on the couch.</p><p>“You look…cleaner,” Mike had managed to say.</p><p>“You sure? You don’t wanna check he’s washed behind his ears, like you do me?” Micky threw in.</p><p>“Go ahead,” Peter had gone behind the couch to bend his head down next to Mike’s, for Mike to examine, like he did to Micky sometimes. Only, Mike snuffling into Micky’s neck, like a monster trying to snack on him, or tickling Micky with his beard scruff to make him collapse into giggles, was a silly game, whereas Mike nuzzling into Peter’s neck got Mike as hard as it got Peter, and as quickly. And the tent that Peter’s stiffening cock made in the small towel tucked loosely around his hips turned Mike on even more…and they both knew it.</p><p>Peter didn’t know what he loved most in the six weeks they’d been together, that Mike’s face lit up every time Peter came into a room, that Mike couldn’t not touch him, when they were in a room together, or how quickly he got hard whenever Peter touched <em>him</em>. All three were gratifying. All three were <em>groovy</em>.</p><p>A trill of song and burble of laughter from downstairs suggested Micky had imitated whatever commercial was showing in the break. Peter had been watching TV with them, and had to admit he’d laid the groundwork then for what was about to happen between him and Mike now. With an, “I need to hit the shower,” he’d levered himself up, one hand on Micky’s shoulder in front of him from where Micky was sitting on the floor at their feet, and the other on Mike’s knee, where Mike sat beside him.</p><p>Mike had been sporting a semi for most of the evening, what with Peter’s closeness and the brushes of his leg and arm against him when Peter moved to rub Micky’s shoulders, or pet his curls, and Peter’s parting move of a hand on his knee turned him full hard. Or maybe it was the way Peter breathed, “I’m still <em>sticky</em>,” as he stood that had Mike throwing wood. If they’d been in the pad on their own, Mike would have joined him in the shower, Peter knew. Dragged him into the shower, probably. But not with Micky there.</p><p>Oh, nothing to do with propriety or trying to keep their roommates in the dark about the nature of their relationship. No, they’d made a pact not to get so rolled up in each other that they left the others out in the cold, especially Mick. They been in danger of doing that right at the start, but it couldn’t be “We were a four before we were a two,” as Peter had put it.</p><p>In the bedroom, Peter took stock of his prep. Candlelight? No, just the bedside lamp. The new pearlescent bulb gave a soft glow. Incense stick—yes. His final act before getting into bed was to help himself to a dab of Mike’s cologne, just the tiniest, quickest touch of his forefinger to the mouth of the opened bottle, then a press of his finger to the base of his throat. It left the very faintest trace of the cologne’s citrus top notes on his warm skin. He wondered if Mike would recognize the scent. He’d probably register it, subconsciously, feel its pull and draw without knowing it. Peter repositioned the incense stick in its holder, then blew at its smoke so it curled more firmly around him where he sat up in bed.</p><p>Peter was sitting reading, twisting a finger into one side of his bangs in concentration, and didn’t look up when the bedroom door opened, only when it closed and locked and Mike was standing there, taking in the tableau Peter made. The smile grew on Mike’s face and the look in his eyes was meaningful. Holding Peter’s gaze, he took off his wristwatch and wound it, then showed Peter the time before placing the watch on the bedside table.</p><p>“Duly noted.” Peter let the sheet covering his groin slip a little.</p><p>“So stay still.” Mike raised a warning finger as he stripped.</p><p>“I have no idea what you mean.” Peter indicated himself and his book. “I’m simply sitting here reading.”</p><p>Mike waved a hand through the wisps of smoke and glanced at the soft-glowing lamp. “So it’s a coincidence you look so beautiful and tempting you’d make a grown man plow through a stump?”</p><p>“A stump…” Peter trailed his gaze down to Mike’s…stump, outlines through the clean boxers Mike slipped on.</p><p>“And not another challenge to see how long I can resist ya this time?” Mike lay down, his arms folded behind his head in a play at nonchalance. “And I don’t want any quips about how I better use a stopwatch instead.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Peter turned a page, although he hadn’t taken in much of what was on it. He fought a smirk.</p><p>“What?” Mike turned to look at him, ranging his gaze over what could be seen of him, settling in on Peter’s face. “Go ahead and say whatever’s ticklin’ ya. I know somethin’ is, ’cause your little beauty mark there’s a-twitching.” He untucked an arm from beneath his head to touch a finger to just above his top lip, to the left, where Peter’s mole was. “Way it does when you’re tryin’n hold in a smile.”</p><p>Oh. Peter hadn’t realized that. “I was going to say, wristwatches, stopwatches and every kind of chronometer regardless, that every time’s a personal best with you, Michael.” He let his smile dance, more so at Mike’s chuckle.</p><p>“Why, thank you, sugar. Hey!” Mike reared away when Peter, book placed on his nightstand, went to reach across Mike. “None of ya touchin’ now! What’re you up to there?”</p><p>“Oh, I need my baby oil, for my shoulder. You remember, when I dig-dived in the volleyball game this morning and strained it a little? It’s in the drawer on that side.”</p><p>“Jus’ hold your horses there, shotgun. Stay nice’n’easy on your side and I’ll pass it to you.”</p><p>Mike took care not to touch Peter as he did so, as if the mere touch of his fingers would inflame Mike to the point of jumping on him. Well, it sometimes did. But when Mike was trying to have more self-control and resist the temptation that Peter…worked at representing, it called for different measures. Like the moan Peter, sitting cross-legged, let out, rubbing the almond oil into his shoulder, twisting and stretching…and flexing an inordinate amount of muscle groups as he did so.</p><p>“Have you finished?” Mike inquired, having ripped his gaze away at least twice. He’d stopped being able to lather the southern on so heavily, Peter noted, which meant Mike had already forfeited a little in their unspoken but mutual <em>seducing you? What, me?</em> game. Oh, Mike was well aware that his drawl stroked Peter’s nerve endings, and used his <em>you’ms</em> and <em>yonders</em> to good effect.</p><p>“I rather believe so,” Peter replied, crisping up his mid-Atlantic accent, testing his theory that it worked a little on Mike, perhaps when Peter rounded the vowels or enunciated his <em>T</em>s. Mike merely nodded at the mattress, for Peter to put the oil there, for Mike to take and replace. “I do feel a little better.”</p><p>“’S’pose I should just be glad you ain’t been flauntin’ yourself, calling it stretching.” Mike dropped Peter’s bottle into the drawer.</p><p>With a, “That’s a good idea!” Peter was on top of the sheet in a cobra pose within a heartbeat, holding the position and making sure to stick out his ass. Taking a sly peep at Mike, he tucked in, bringing his knees up and bending over them with his head down over his outstretched arms, in a position that wasn’t quite child’s pose, but perhaps a quarter dolphin, a quarter cat and a quarter dog, and wholly flauntin’ himself.</p><p>And as soon as he widened his legs and put his weight on his knees, with his ass raised higher, Mike was on him. Literally on him, draped over him, his crotch up against Peter’s ass. Peter’s smile could have had its own yoga pose named after it, if <em>smug</em> was a thing in yoga. He rested on his forehead and elbows, giving a startled, “Michael?”</p><p>“Like you don’t know just what you’re doing. Making me crazy for you.” Mike answered himself before Peter could get in a mock-puzzled question, then took the tiniest nip of Peter’s shoulder. “What? Got nothing to say for yourself?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Peter raised himself a little, rubbing against Mike’s thickening hard-on en route. “You lasted a minute longer than usu—<em>ow</em>!” Mike had slapped his ass for him. A promising start.</p><p>“You hush now,” Mike ordered, yanking his boxers off one-handed. Peter had wondered why he’d even bothered to put them on, given what usually happened. He pressed close enough to suck hard on Peter’s shoulder where it met his neck…at the same time as he reached between Peter’s spread legs and cradled his balls. The gasp Peter let out at having that vulnerable-to-Mike shoulder-neck spot sucked hard and bitten was lost in the purr of appreciation Mike gave to find Peter’s balls swelling in his hand.</p><p>A <em>very</em> promising start, and Peter helped it along. “Am I still open, from when you had me this morning?” he queried, pitching his voice low. “Oh, and from this afternoon, when you took me again? When you fucked me quick and hard, with hardly any lube?”</p><p>Mike hesitated. Peter could read his thoughts. <em>Was I—</em> Peter cut them off by wriggling against Mike, rubbing into him to show him the answers were <em>yes, you were rough</em>, and <em>yes, I loved it</em>. So much so, he’d instigated it, like he was doing now…with Mike letting him.</p><p>“Oh, <em>I</em> see.” Mike scraped his five-o’clock shadow into Peter’s neck and cheek. “See that I fucked that eager little ass good. Like you’ve been wanting me to.” He pulled back a little, and although Peter missed his solid heat of him so close, he relished the tease—no; the <em>promise</em>—of Mike’s erect cock at his hole.</p><p>“Huh<em>?</em> <em>You’re</em> the one who can’t stop rutting on me, like a wild animal in heat!”</p><p>“Animal!” Mike threw back his head to laugh. “Me, needing to rut?” He crowded Peter, rubbing along his taint then surging back to tease his asshole. “You’re the one who needs it on the regular, who bitches and whines if he doesn’t get a good, hard servicing.” Peter closed his eyes to let the dirty words make filthy images. “Oh, I blame myself.” Mike nipped Peter’s earlobe and used his teeth to pull on it, to stretch it. “Yeah, ’s’my fault, ’cause I broke ya in too good.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“Yeah, I was just too goddamn patient and sweet, getting you trained up, and now ya can’t get enough. I gotcha craving what I can do to that ass. Gotcha <em>needing</em>…”</p><p>Peter pressing his lips together to prevent a <em>fuck</em> or <em>shit</em> escaping at Mike’s matter-of-fact statements made him give vent to a raspy little moan, and Mike huffed out a laugh when he caught it. “See? You can’t get enough of my cock, can you, boy?” He moved off again, and the sound of the nightstand drawer opening told Peter Mike had twisted to grab the lube. He wondered if he had time to stroke himself before Mike resumed. God knew he needed to. Maybe it was the position he was in, but his dick was already hard enough to come.</p><p>“So, I shafted ya real good earlier, huh?” Mike’s tone was conversational, but didn’t fool Peter. “Lemme see… Yeah, guess I did. You’re still slack.”</p><p>His words and the sound of lube being deployed wrapped around Peter’s senses, making the pictures in his mind’s eye 3D images then living Technicolor cinema.</p><p>“So think you can take two fingers, right off?” Mike breathed in his ear.</p><p>“Sure.” But the thick, hard intrusion in his ass had him pitching forward…and he understood at once—Mike had made him take three fingers. Lubed as they were, and even with Mike no doubt curling them together, they still made a wide, blunt intrusion that stretched and forced, making his fingers clench and his toes curl into the sheet beneath him.</p><p>“Breathe through it,” Mike counselled. “You can do it. You can take it, boy.”</p><p>“I know!” Peter wasn’t giving in without a fight…or making Mike fight for it. “Told you—<em>brute</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Cheeky.</em>” Mike accompanied his censure with another whack at Peter’s ass. The second. Second of many, hopefully. And <em>this</em> one made his fingers rub over that gland inside Peter he loved having stimulated, and <em>that</em> made him moan. “That’s it. That’s what I like to hear.” Mike took a second to twist his hand and reposition his fingers, denying Peter the arousal he craved. He whined, as Mike had said he did, making Mike’s breath of laughter tickle his ear. “Do your flaunting now, yoga boy,” Mike taunted, extending a fingertip and brushing Peter where he loved it…just for a second, before pulling back from giving him more.</p><p>Oh! Understanding, Peter stretched forward, then pushed back, his movement rubbing the bulb of his prostate on Mike’s now-immobile fingers. His breath caught in his throat at the raw pleasure…so he did it again, hissing this time at the stimulation, the hard pressure that had his dick throbbing and aching with the need to climax.</p><p>“Oh yeah.” Mike rewarded him for his compliance or flexibility by staying with him now, moving when Peter did, so the pads of his fingers kept up a hard, almost-too-firm pressure where Peter was most responsible, most vulnerable. He would have climaxed…if Mike hadn’t returned his other hand to Peter’s heavy, swollen balls, but not to cradle or fondle, this time. No, he pulled them down at an angle, one that stopped Peter coming.</p><p>Mike kept up the cruel, clever torment, the <em>yes, release</em> of the stimulation then the <em>not-yet</em> of the constriction. The go and stop throbbed like a heartbeat. Peter had never really been into ball play before, but Mike was good at cupping and caressing or even simply holding them, his long, skilled fingers teasing them into play when arousal was already climbing, to make it spike. He used his tongue and lips on them when he went down on Peter, encouraging Peter to do the same to him.</p><p>“Reason you like to fuck me from behind. On all fours,” Peter gasped, knowing Mike would follow his thought process.</p><p>“That an’ I can fuck deep. Way I like it.” Mike’s voice being breathy and catchy pleased Peter, knowing that he’d done that to him. “And you’re just so fucken hot like this.” He nipped Peter’s neck hard, perhaps in reward, and the bite was hard enough to leave a mark.</p><p>This caught Peter by surprise: Mike never marked him anywhere visible. He was focused on that, and on keeping his balance on his knees and elbows, that Mike slipping his fingers free almost didn’t register, not in the way that Mike powering in in one hard, sure push, did.</p><p>“All the way in deep. Told ya,” Mike whispered. He hadn’t applied more lube, just made do with what had been on his fingers and transferred to Peter, meaning that him breaching Peter burned as well as stretched, in the way that Peter got off on, just as using the minimum of slick, and so having to work for it, lit Mike up from the inside out.</p><p>The slow pass over his prostate as Mike’s long, thick cock filled him made Peter moan as long and deep as Mike’s slide into him. Mike gave him a few seconds to adjust, his non-verbal way of checking in, of asking <em>okay?</em> and Peter made the push of his hips back into Mike answer <em>yes, very</em>. If Peter pushed, Mike went one better and rocked, then rammed, so Peter had to grab for the pillow and use it to muffle his howl.</p><p>Mike was sweating within seconds, his hands slipping where he clung to Peter. Peter wished he could see him as Mike pulled almost free and then plunged deep, see his muscles straining and his face contorted with the punishing rhythm he set. He could imagine though, and doing so turned the push of his hips into Mike into a bucking, driving Mike deeper.</p><p>“<em>You…</em>” Mike panted. He loosened his hold on Peter’s balls and hip and instead curved his body more tightly into Peter’s, sliding his hands down Peter’s arms to place his hands on top of Peter’s where they scrunched into the sheet under him, trapping them there. Peter wriggled—if Mike wasn’t getting a hand to his dick, to pump it in time with his own speed and pace, well, then, Peter had no choice but to rub off into the sheet.</p><p>Except Mike didn’t let him, or couldn’t let him, not with the sharp sounds he loosed into Peter’s ear and the couple more brutal-hard thrusts his hips gave before his body stiffened behind Peter. Peter was so used to Mike’s self-control that the sudden hot throb of Mike’s cum deep within him startled him, then thrilled him as it always did. Mike’s harsh gasps dotted Peter’s neck with sweat and his fingers clawed in a rough grip over Peter’s as he rode out the pulses of his release, getting in a final snap of his hips to pump out all he had to give.</p><p>His lips and tongue landed a final suck and nip on Peter’s abused neck, Mike a dead, out-of-it weight behind him for long, long seconds before the world came back for him enough that he slid off and out of Peter, leaving Peter coated him in sweat and in the cooling cum dripping from his ass. “Sorry,” he panted, chest heaving, landing at Peter’s side. “Told ya—you’re just too goddam hot like that!”</p><p>“Fine words,” Peter gasped, his muscles protesting his turn onto his back beside Mike, “butter no—”</p><p>“Dick?” Mike’s crooked smile showed off his jagged teeth that Peter enjoyed exploring with his tongue, when Mike wasn’t too self-conscious to let him. He was flushed and glowing, and normally Peter loved to see him like that, know he was why Mike looked like that, but at the moment, he had other things…in hand, namely his aching, straining, flushed-dark cock.</p><p>“I ain’t forgotten you.” Mike grinned. “Wanna watch you. Put on a show for me, babe.”</p><p>Peter exhaled, stroking his ready-to-come dick and cradling his full, aching balls. “’S’not gonna be—<em>ah</em>—a three-act Broadway production.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m not expecting a one-man show.” Mike shifted onto his side. “I’ll play a part with you.” He rolled, so he was half-over Peter, one hand spearing into his hair and the other on top of Peter’s hand on his cock. He closed the gap between them to take Peter’s mouth, his tongue surging in to subdue Peter’s. Overpowered, Peter could do nothing but curl a hand around Mike’s back, and score his nails down in a scratch in response to Mike’s easy domination.</p><p>Mike pulled his mouth away a little, but left it near enough so Peter felt the touch of his lips on his, felt the shape of his words as Mike spoke. And Mike knew how to use his voice to maximum effect, thickening his accent as he dirtied up his speech. “Love watching you come,” he husked.</p><p>Peter knew it wouldn’t take long, not with Mike’s hand tugging on the roots of his hair, his other in a fist tight about Peter’s cock, the speed faster and the pressure firmer than Peter exerted, and not with the light in his eyes and the pout to his lips as he poured honeyed filth into Peter’s ear.</p><p>Peter, panting, just about withstood Mike’s “You’re even more beautiful when you come,” but Mike’s “Fucken love seeing you with my cum seeping out of you,” tore his climax from him like a bolt of lightning, arcing through his blood and firing every nerve. It lifted him from his body, shutting out everything but pure white sensation for long moments, until sound and vision slowly took hold again, pulling him back to himself where he lay on the bed, his still-pulsing cock spurting its last onto his chest.</p><p>“God in heaven, Peter!” Mike sounded—and, when Peter opened an eye up at him, looked—almost awed. “Ya got me wanting to go again!”</p><p><em>Self-control and stamina</em>, Peter tried to comment, on Mike’s strength, but didn’t know if he’d actually said or merely thought the words. Either way, he gasped out a laugh. “D’you fucken love seeing me covered in <em>my</em> cum too?” he managed to ask, his voice rusty sounding.</p><p>“Not so much,” Mike answered, dabbing at Peter’s torso and ass for him. He was gentle, and the cloth soft, but Peter bit back a hiss as Mike cleaned his hole. “Aw. Need me to kiss it better?”</p><p>“When I’ve stopped being dizzy.” Peter got both eyes open. “I came fucken hard.”</p><p>“I know.” Mike looked proud, making Peter laugh. “And you’re the animal, going by these claw marks.” He twisted to show Peter the long red scratches down his back that Peter barely recalled making.</p><p>“And who left these bite marks?” Peter touched his neck.</p><p>“Better’ve been me.” Mike scowled, but couldn’t keep up the act, instead bending down to Peter and dropping a tender kiss on his lips. “Sorry. How about I make it up to ya?”</p><p>Peter narrowed his eyes. “How?”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll think of something. Heh, you wanna try something?”</p><p><em>Up</em> to something, more like, Peter thought. “Something like…?”</p><p>“You’d be blindfolded.”</p><p>“Huh.” He hadn’t expected that. “Well, as long as I get to lie here… You about fucked me comatose.”</p><p>“Not shagged you senseless?”</p><p>Mike’s Davyism, the expression without the accent, had Peter sniggering. He watched Mike go to the drawer of his nightstand and take out the red paisley-leaf-pot-leaf bandanna. Mike blew Peter’s bangs out of his eyes and lifted his head to tie the cloth around his eyes. Despite the hard, thorough fuck and the mind-blowing orgasm, Peter was…perking up. “One day, I want you to tell me the story of how you got this bandanna,” he commented.</p><p>“I told ya.” Mike secured the knot.</p><p>“The <em>real</em> story.” Peter raised a hand to check if he could see it. He couldn’t.</p><p>“I told you the real story. Not my fault you didn’t believe me,” Mike replied.</p><p>Peter grinned, crinkling the strip of cloth around his eyes. “Maybe you should tell me another…tall tale,” he suggested, making his voice a purr and straying his hand down to his dick, illustrating the kind of tale he had in mind, one akin to the story Mike had…entertained him with about how he came by the red and white neckerchief.</p><p>“Huh.” A finger stroked down Peter’s nose: Mike thinking. “Oh, well, I suppose I could satisfy…your curiosity on one point. The last time I bottomed…before you.”</p><p>Peter would have blinked if the blindfold hadn’t been keeping his eyes shut. Mike didn’t <em>try</em> to constantly surprise him, Peter didn’t think. He was just naturally…off-beat, differently to how Peter was, but just as unconventional.</p><p>“That’s got ya tongue.” Mike stroked Peter’s lips and dotted a fingertip to his tongue. “You all settled there? Then I’ll begin. Well, in one second…”</p><p>He moved, and Peter heard the striking of a match, and felt the quality of the light change from the lamp, soft as it was, to a candle. He couldn’t quite identify which one, by its scent, try as he might. “What?” he asked, in response to the snickers next to him when Mike came back.</p><p>“You, sniffing like a L’il Rascal at a meat pie on a windowsill! It was for a chick.”</p><p>“It w— <em>Oh!</em>” It came out as <em>whoa</em>, fitting, for the story Mike told…one that had Peter squirming, his spent dick showing its interest and appreciation. If he were a chick, he’d be squeezing his thighs together. Search his memory as he might, he couldn’t recall a day when Mike had come home in the early morning…limping, or an entire day in which he’d barely been able to sit…</p><p>“Did I ever meet her?” he asked, breathlessly.</p><p>“Nope…”</p><p>“Michael?”</p><p>“You <em>saw</em> her once, in a club, but didn’t speak to her.”</p><p>Mike’s tone told Peter Mike had made sure of that. Mike snorted, anticipating Peter’s question. “She’d’ve eaten you for breakfast, babe!”</p><p>“And maybe I would’ve…liked that.” But Peter had another question. “Where did she get her…toys?”</p><p>“Oh, there’s plenty o’ those kind of places, corner of Santa Monica and Highland on the northeast side,” came Mike’s answer.</p><p>His ready reply spoke of familiarity, but Peter still didn’t know whether to believe this story or not. Mike cut across Peter’s attempts to cross-examine. “I got a question for you. You know what a massage candle is?”</p><p>“No…?”</p><p>“Wanna find out?”</p><p>“Yes…?”</p><p>“Ya gotta be sure.”</p><p>“Yes. <em>Yes.</em>”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Peter wished he could see Mike’s face. He could imagine the gleam of his grin, though.</p><p>“Just…gonna…”</p><p>Move me over…onto an old sheet? Peter felt the texture of the linen beneath him, one of their old single sheets they no longer used, having bought double ones instead, now their beds were permanently together. This had been in the linen supply in the No-Room, meaning Mike had planned this! “Michael?” he queried, at the gasp that came from Mike, after a pause.</p><p>“Just testing, shotgun.” The bed dipped with Mike shifting. “Wouldn’t do anything to my partner until I did it to myself first, now would I?”</p><p>“Bergamot. Amber. Musk?” Peter was babbling, but the aroma he was trying to identify had gotten stronger. Oh, because the candle was nearer.</p><p>“And the light’s real pretty. You’ll see in a while,” Mike promised.</p><p>Peter’s head was swimming with the anticipation as much as the scent. Part of the build-up, he supposed. He almost jumped as Mike positioned him to sit, against the headboard, his arms by his sides. “Massage?” he belatedly queried. “Shouldn’t I be face down, so you can get to my back?”</p><p>“Nah. I like your chest.” Mike proved his point by stroking Peter.</p><p>“And my arms,” Peter added on a sigh as Mike smoothed along them. He felt Mike kneel astride him, a knee either side of him.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Peter nodded, breathing a little faster in the silence that followed, convinced he could sense Mike bringing the candle closer. He still didn’t quite get the connection between <em>candle</em> and <em>massage</em>, and was about to ask when something hot dropped onto his torso. It was a shock and he clamped his lips together, not to cry out. But it wasn’t hot wax, melted candlewax?</p><p>No, it felt more like heated <em>oil</em>, the drop hitting his skin in a burst of pain, a brief flare that subsided almost at once to a warm glow that spread—oh, that was the oil spreading, rolling down his chest. Was it? Mike could probably sense Peter’s queries, the hypothesis he was forming to answer them, and so went for repeatability, letting another splash hit Peter’s torso.</p><p>This time Peter let a gasp escape. The rolling, enticing warmth, the sweeter, sugary notes of vanilla and orange flower tickling his nose, the budding of his nipples, reacting to the stimulation…</p><p>“How is it?” came Mike’s voice.</p><p>“Like tiny bites.” Peter swallowed. “And a sting and heat. Warmth…” He moaned as Mike’s hands helped spread the heat and generated a different kind of warmth, in massaging the oil into his skin. “Let me see.”</p><p>“Sure.” Fingers fumbled at the knot of the bandanna, then pulled the whole thing off rather than waste time and effort.</p><p>Peter blinked and twisted his head. The candle, a flame rising above a pool of oil in a small squat glass jug, had been replaced on the nightstand, filling the space between itself and the bed with aromatic smoke. His upper body gleamed, shiny with oil, and he took Mike’s hands to see their palms equally coated. Sniffing at them revealed a hint of sandalwood. The candle had a complex scent.</p><p>“Massage, you said?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning back.</p><p>“That I did,” Mike agreed, stretching for the small jug, lifting it high above Peter’s body…and pouring out a thick, fat gout. Peter stared at it falling, fine tremors of anticipation rippling his skin as he waited for the impact. And when the hot once-candle, now-oil made contact with his chest, he hissed.</p><p>“Oh yesss,” he whispered when Mike rubbed, using the balls of his hands, his palms and fingertips to smooth out the soft, supple oil, then groaned when Mike worked it in. “You’ve been practicing,” he murmured to Mike, his comment on the strokes Mike was using.</p><p>“Oh, well, I might have been reading those notes and papers of yours,” Mike muttered, his eyes on his task. Peter held in a guttural moan as best he could. “Says the heat helps the oil penetrate deeper into the skin,” Mike said. “I’d say it’s about right.” He was rubbing the heels of his hands into Peter’s shoulders now, and pressing his slickened thumbs into the base of his neck. “Softens the skin, too.” He paused. “Hmm. Don’t know as we want ya gettin’ too relaxed there…”</p><p>He stretched to take up the jug again, and tilt it over Peter’s thigh. It hit the sensitive inner skin, making him writhe, then twist when Mike gave long sweeping strokes down his leg, then shin, then took his foot between both hands. “Erm, Michael?” Peter indicated his cock, at half-mast and thickening.</p><p>“Kinda forgot this was one of your triggers,” Mike replied, giving a final press of his thumbs to Peter’s sole.</p><p>“Seems I’m not the only—umph!” The noise was Peter’s reaction to Mike closing any gap between them. The melted candle oil had maybe sensitized Peter’s skin, because the press of Mike’s body against his was sensuous and almost overwhelming, especially when their mouths met and Mike’s erect dick slid against his.</p><p>“Looks like I might have to fuck you again,” Mike murmured against Peter’s lips, which tilted up in reaction. “Wonder what the oil tastes like?” He nuzzled into Peter’s neck then stopped, pulling back, his face twisted. “Not that good.”</p><p>“Pity.” Peter liked Mike licking and nipping his way down his body. “But I know one place you didn’t cover in it…” He bucked his hips in illustration.</p><p>With a muttered, “You would, babe. You would,” Mike slid low, and a second later his head was in Peter’s lap, where his slightly stubbled cheek grazing Peter’s cock made Peter cry out.</p><p>God, he loved it when Mike went down on him, demonstrating the range of his skills and his mastery of technique. Like now, driving Peter wild circling the crown of his cock with the tip of his tongue, sucking and teasing the head, his eyes on Peter, before grasping his dick at the base and pumping, sliding his lips up and down the hot, hard length.</p><p>It took Mike’s, “’S’what I like to hear,” to make Peter realize he was moaning: more so when Mike took every inch of Peter’s now fully engorged cock into his mouth…and all the way to the back of his throat. He sucked long and hard, the touch and pressure of his tongue <em>oh yes</em> and <em>right there</em> and <em>God, Michael!</em> when he swirled it up and down and around Peter’s throbbing length.</p><p>Peter knew he couldn’t last. His hips thrust, of their own volition, making Mike hold them down to finish Peter, pumping his cock in and out of his mouth and laving it with his tongue. Peter had to close his eyes against the zings and sparks of nerve endings firing down his spine into his balls and he gave in, conceded to Mike’s mastery over his body, losing himself in the power and pleasure of his climax, for all he’d come hard not too long ago. He scratched his fingers into Mike’s head, tangling in his hair as he spasmed, and Mike held him in his mouth until he’d wrung every last drop of cum from him and Peter’s body slumped, which was when Mike gave him a final long lick, pulling free.</p><p>“You okay?” Mike’s voice was a little hoarse.</p><p>“I should be asking you that!” Peter replied on a gasp. He wriggled and Mike tugged, so Peter was lying flat. He was quicker for once and got an arm around Mike, cuddling Mike to him for a change to enjoy the afterglow. Well, for him… “What about you?”</p><p>“Like I said, might need to fuck ya again.” Mike raised his head from Peter’s chest. “This way you won’t be bellyaching to get off, so I can take my own sweet time, stay long and deep in you.”</p><p>Peter closed his eyes. He loved that, Mike fucking him when they lay on their sides, Mike behind him, deep inside him, hardly moving, the pace varying from leisurely to <em>tantric.</em> Mike giving the occasional squeeze to Peter’s balls, or tweak to his nipples or nip at his neck to spark a jolt of electric pleasure through him...</p><p>“So, ya liked the massage candle?”</p><p>Peter looked over to it in its jug, and nodded.</p><p>“We can try actual wax play next time,” Mike mused. “Get some colored wax candles… Says the sensation twists a submissive into all <em>sorts</em> of positions.”</p><p>“Who says?” Peter started to ask, but stopped.</p><p>“What’s that smile for?” Mike asked, his tone suspicious.</p><p>Peter jerked his head toward the door, and the footsteps sounding on the other side of it. They were soft, unlike their owner’s usual thud up the spiral staircase.</p><p>“Guys?” Micky’s voice was as tentative as his tap at the door. Mike’s reaction to him bursting in on them had taught him caution and discretion. “Guys, can you smell fire?”</p><p>Peter levered up and across to blow out the guttering wick of the melted candle.</p><p>“Yeah, Mick. It’s Peter. He’s so hot, he’s smokin’,” Mike called.</p><p>“No, Micky. That’s not it.” Peter elbowed Mike. “It’s Mike—he’s burning with lust for me.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Mike agreed. “Both those things are true, Mick.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>man</em>!” The bang suggested a Micky-sized and shaped fist had struck their—locked and bolted—door. “You two get to have fun all night long!”</p><p>“Yeah, we really do.” Mike agreed with that too. “But, hey, it’s the Surfrider Beach moonlight freak-out in a couple days, right? With the midnight surfing under the light of the full moon, and the cook-out supper-breakfast? Gonna be groovy-cool. You got that to look forward to, babe.”</p><p>Micky’s, “Yeah. Guess so,” floated back as he descended the stairs.</p><p>“Talking of special occasions, why tonight?” Peter indicated the bed and what Mike had instigated. He couldn’t think if today was a significant date...</p><p>“Because every night—and day—with you is a special occasion,” Mike told him, pulling him close.</p><p>“Awww. Soppy sap.” Peter threaded his fingers into Mike’s chest hair and tugged.</p><p>“Yeah, guess I am. But you’m better not go telling anyone, ya hear?”</p><p>“Oh?” Peter raised his head to look him in the eye. “What’s it worth?”</p><p>Mike’s whisper into Peter’s ear of what he’d do in exchange had Peter’s eyes popping. “I’ll consider it,” he whispered back, straying a hand down to where Mike was ready and waiting. He paused. “And just where would one get that…equipment?”</p><p>“One might have it already,” Mike answered. “But I ain’t telling.”</p><p>Peter, grinning wickedly, took that as the challenge Mike had intended it to be, meaning Micky was knocking impatiently on their door the next day too, but to get them down to lunch this time. Well, they’d needed a long lie-in after such a busy night…</p>
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